Simple Plans
by lilsherlockian1975
Summary: Molly's still mad over Sherlock's drug use and exile. But he needs to talk to her and he needs her clear-headed for this conversation. Post TAB. ***Now it is a two shot***
1. Chapter 1

_All the love an much appreciation to MizJoely for her betaing and guidance on this story. There be angst, talk about drugs and rehab. It's post TAB. But it's me... you know how I work. Happiness and sunshine ; )_

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

Sherlock had been in the path lab most of the day doing… God knew what. Molly just continued to do her work as usual. She'd had two postmortems that morning and all the paperwork to go with them. She didn't have time to worry about what the famous detective was busying himself with this time. He could have been snorting coke off the lab bench for all she cared. Well, that probably wasn't true, but she was too pissed off to really care about his experiments at the moment. He simply wasn't her problem anymore and he hadn't been for months.

Her shift was finally over and when she came out of her office she found him still there, his eyes glued to his microscope, just like he had been every time she'd been in the lab. She shook her head as she hitched her bag further up on her shoulder, making her way to the exit.

"One thing before you leave, Molly," he said just as she reached the door.

She turned and looked at him. They'd barely spoken the entire day, just the occasional perfunctory request for information or supplies. "What is it, Sherlock?" she asked in an exasperated tone.

"I have a question for you, actually," he said finally looking up from his 'work'. "How much longer are you planning on being mad at me?"

Molly froze, replaying the question over in her head. Had she heard him right? She'd been angry all... well, ever since she'd heard about the drugs from Mrs. Hudson, of all people. And now he wants to how long she planned on being mad? _Asshat!_ "I couldn't possibly say, Sherlock. Why do you even care?" she answered, trying not to sound bitter, knowing that would just add fuel to the fire.

The detective looked impassive as ever as he replied, "It's very important that I know how long the brooding silence is going to last. I have plans, you see."

"Really? Plans?" she mocked. "Well, far be it from me to impede upon you and your _plans_. John seems to have forgiven you…"

"John is happy with making me piss in a jar thrice weekly and with the fact that I attended the outpatient rehab…"

Molly cut him off with a bitter laugh.

"Something funny?" he asked.

"Three weeks, Sherlock. Let's not kid ourselves about that joke of a program you went through."

He stared at her for a moment. She could, as usual, read nothing on his face. "You're angry with me, yet you know about the duration of my stay in rehabilitation. _Interesting_." The last word was said with the slightest bit of wonder.

She rolled her eyes at his description of rehab. It had been a mix of meetings and medications. He'd not _stayed_ anywhere but Baker Street. "Well since John's satisfied with your progress, he can help your with whatever you have planned." She started to leave again.

"I assure you, Molly, he cannot. So, can I get a timeframe of some kind?"

Molly stopped, still facing the door, and took a cleansing breath. When she felt a bit more in control she turned around. "I don't know, Sherlock. Okay. I'm pissed off."

"Clearly."

Her plan was a simple one: _avoidance_ , but if he wanted to have it out… fine! "You stopped coming round months ago. Then you show up at my flat on Christmas Eve and… and…" She swallowed. "Well, you were acting very much not like yourself. Finally, I find out from your landlady that you nearly died on a plane, which you were taking out of the country to possibly never return. Am I supposed to be pleased?"

"I suppose not." His tone was ever so slightly somber.

She suddenly felt a pang of sadness for the man whom she'd always loved in one way or another, even if he did drive her crazy most of the time. Her heart had never really given her a minutes peace where he was concerned. "Look, I know who you are and that you don't make apologies for your behaviour. I suppose I'm just disappointed… and…"

"Is this about the drugs or not telling you about the exile?" he asked when she faltered.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I take full responsibility for one, but the other wasn't entirely my fault." He moved away from the lab bench, walking closer to her. "I took the drugs, Molly. I did that. But I thought I was going to my death and I couldn't really…" He looked away from her.

Molly found this odd. Sherlock always looked people straight in the eyes when speaking to them. A thought struck her. "Cope?" she asked.

"That's one way of putting it. As far as leaving and not telling you, I'd been in solitary confinement for nearly a week. I had no means of contacting you. If I'd been able to talk you, I certainly would have." He continued to close the distance. "Mycroft arranged for the Watsons to be at the airfield because, well, there were extenuating circumstances."

"There always are. Besides, I know how much they mean to you. You must love Mary in a way I can't possibly comprehend since you were somehow able to forgive her for shooting you." As soon as she said it she knew she'd shocked the man. She felt herself swell with pride for just a moment. So few people had the ability to accomplish such a feat.

He smiled. "Your mind, Molly, it really _is_ extraordinary. Nowhere near mine, of course, but impressive nonetheless."

She hadn't cried, not even alone in her flat; telling herself that she'd shed enough tears for Sherlock Holmes and he that neither wanted nor deserved them. But that small smile nearly broke her… nearly. "Yes, well." She cleared her throat. "As I said…"

"This is important," he interrupted.

"And I can't possibly say how long I'll be mad, Sherlock. I don't think a good slap will mitigate my anger, this time. _Though it might help_ ," she added under her breath.

"I won't apologise for the drugs, Molly. I had my reasons. But I do apologise for upsetting you, it was never my intention."

She shook her head. "Did you mean to kill yourself?"

"I'm not really sure. Just wanted to take away the pain."

"What pain?"

He stared at her for a very long moment. "You're still mad."

"Of course I am!" she shouted, not understanding what that had to do with anything.

"Well then I can't tell you."

Molly tossed her bag on a nearby table and rubbed her forehead. The conversation was giving her a headache. She paced away from the detective then turned back. "Okay, fine. I'm not mad anymore," she said with her hands on her hips.

He laughed. "Your body language tells a different story."

She bit her lip to keep from cursing. "Sherlock, I'm not an angry person by nature. It's taken a lot out of me to keep up this level of hostility for this long. And believe it or not, I don't actually want to be angry with you. Just tell me about your plan so I can go home, feed Toby and have a sodding glass of wine!" His calm demeanor was making her all the more angry.

He turned to walk back to the bench. "We'll talk about this when your mood improves. It'll do no good to have this particular conversation when you're all worked up," he said as he sat back down.

Molly started reciting pi in her head; a technique she'd used many times in uni to quell anxiety. It wasn't working. She still wanted to smoosh his stupid, beautiful face…

She could've left- _should_ have left at that point - but she was even more pissed off and frankly very curious. Instead she thought about what he'd said, his explanations. He would have told her goodbye? She actually believed that. For all his faults Sherlock had rarely lied to her. The drugs: _to take away the pain_. What pain? Why couldn't he just tell her? In order to get the answer she'd have to calm down and 'not be angry', _evidently_.

After taking several deep, cleansing breaths she walked over to him and said, "Okay, Sherlock. I'm still upset, but I think I understand or will, I assume, if you're able explain yourself. Please, talk to me."

"Are you sure? This won't be easy for me, Molly."

"I have a feeling that'll make two of us."

He smirked then swiveled on the stool to face her. "The pain to which I was referring was the fact that I'd never be able to see you again. And before you ask, yes of course, everyone else too. But with you… it was different, _visceral_. It wasn't physical, though…" He looked away for a moment. "in a way it almost _felt_ physical. At any rate, I felt as if I was losing something before it had even begun."

Molly wasn't following; she had no idea what he was trying to tell her. He must have read her confusion on her face. She knew that she was an open book, it was why he had always been able to manipulate her so easily.

He stood up. "How about this, shall I tell you what I would have said if I'd been given the opportunity? I had six days to think it through."

Molly nodded.

He took one of her hands in his and looked at her with with the softest eyes she'd ever seen. "So this is it, Molly. I'm leaving and I'm never coming back. You have been remarkable. Your loyalty and kindness was something I never expected and clearly never deserved. But I cherished it, I truly did. In a world full of bastards and liars, you are a gentle truth. I have but one regret in my life and it's that I waited too long to let myself appreciate you and your beauty. When I finally allowed myself to feel something, it was too late." He cupped her cheek with one warm hand and said, "I love you, Molly. I should have told you a long time ago, but I was selfish and cowardly. And now I'll never know what it's like to make love to you, to wake up with you on a Sunday morning… to grow old with you, and for that I am truly sorry. You are the best thing that could have happened to me." He ended his speech with a soft kiss to her forehead, then he released her… and waited.

Molly was certain that the world had stopped turning. Her willful tear ducts seemed to decide that whether or not she wanted to cry, she was going to. She was completely at a loss for words. How was she supposed to respond to that?

After what seemed like hours, but in truth was probably two or three minutes she asked, "You… you loved- love me?"

"Indeed."

"And you would have told me all of _that_ just before you flew off to your death?" she asked as the first tears started to fall.

"Possibly. Or perhaps I would have reconsidered it once I saw your sweet face. One can never quite know."

Molly wiped away some of the tears and bit her lip as she considered her next words. Finally she said, "And now? Actually, what about these plans?"

"Oh, right. I wanted to tell you…well, what I just said."

"That you love me?"

"Yes. But I deduced that if you were still harbouring animosity towards me, my proclamation might not be welcomed. Or, that you might not believe me. I _have_ manipulated you in the past," he reminded her. As if she could ever forget. .

His consideration was nearly as shocking as his use of the word 'love'. Okay, she needed to get a hold of the situation. As in asking questions and demanding answers…

"You have questions, no doubt. First of all, I am completely serious and I would like nothing more than to move our relationship forward. I am also aware that it takes work and a certain amount of sacrifice to accomplish such a task. I know that you're ambivalent as to my level of commitment to my sobriety. But make not mistake, Molly, I _am_ clean and will do everything in my power to stay that way. I'm doing this for me, not for John or Mycroft or even for you. If you choose to be with me, well that will be my reward," he said with a smile.

She started to speak but he moved closer once again and put both of his hands on her shoulders. "I've dropped a bit of a bomb on you, I know. And you have a cat and some wine waiting for you. So go home, think about what I've said and let me know what you decide. You've waited for me all these years, it's the least I can do. Besides, I understand having patience is very important in relationships." He leaned down and placed a delicate kiss on the corner of her mouth. "Have a good evening, Molly. I look forward to hearing from you." Then he picked up his coat and left.

Molly stood in the lab for several moments, frozen in the spot he left her then said, "Well I'll be damned."

When she finally snapped out of her shock she picked up her bag and walked to the door. Yes, she needed to think about the things he'd just said. Her mind was reeling from the revelations of the last thirty minutes, but her heart?

Her heart was already decided.

* * *

 _Miz hinted that I might get requests for a part two... if you would like more, please let me know. I might be motivated. Thanks so much for reading. You all are amazing! ~Lil~_


	2. Part Two

_So, I assume (if I'm reading correctly) that part two would be appreciated... I really planned on leaving it with Molly's 'heart' wanting to say yes but leaving it a bit up in the air. But MizJoely is our leader and is far wiser than me. I'm so glad listened to her and asked for everyone's opinion on this one. I can only hope that I managed a decent follow-up. Once again BIG thanks to Miz for her betaing help, also to MrsMCrief for some Brit bits. I'm taking the rating up to T for some saucy language and... such._

 _I own nothing except any mistakes you might find. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 _Plans!_ Sherlock thought. _Why did I have to be so bloody noble about this whole thing? I should have asked for an answer then and there. Should have pressured her. This bloody waiting business is worse than going to the theater with Mummy or jumper shopping with John. What's that quote about the best laid plans...?_ Sherlock wondered as he lay on the settee in his lounge. _Was it Percy Shelley? No-no, it's Scottish not English … Who the hell was it?_ He thought for a few moments trying to pull up the, frankly useless. information, when it suddenly hit him. "Burns!" he shouted just as Mrs. Hudson walked into the flat.

"Good Lord!" she said, one hand clutching her chest. "Give an old woman a heart attack, why don't you?"

He jumped to his feet and started pacing. "You are in excellent cardiovascular health, Mrs. Hudson. I'm sure you're fine. But If you're worried, perhaps you should practice caution when barging into your tenant's flats unannounced."

The older woman tutted. "I only have one tenant and was hardly _barging in_ , Sherlock, the door was wide open." She sat down in John' chair, releasing a heavy breath. "So what's this about burns? An arson case?"

"No, not burns, _Burns_ \- the poet!" He paced to the mantle out of pure habit looking for the pack of Benson & Hedges. Of course it wasn't there. With a sigh he moved restlessly to the window and looked down on Baker Street below. "How hard can it possibly be? Every hapless idiot on the planet seems to be able to do it." He turned to his landlady and added, "Even you."

"What are you going on about? And since when have you taken an interest in poetry?" she asked.

"Maybe I'm more romantic than you know, Mrs. Hudson." He looked at the table next to him. "Don't you usually come with tea?"

She just laughed as she stood up and approached him. "Not today, my dear boy. I'm off to visit Mr. Pfeiffer." She patted his arm and kissed his cheek (once he lowered his head, since he knew what was coming.) "I just wanted to check on you before I left."

He rolled his eyes, though he secretly loved the attention. "I'm a fully grown man, I think I'll be okay while you go off trolling care homes."

"Oh stop it you!" she said with a giggle as she walked out the door.

Mrs. Hudson's exit meant he was back to torturing himself over Molly's decision (or lack thereof). It had been two days since his conversation with the pathologist and he wasn't sure how much longer he could wait. He was having the hardest time keeping still. He'd thought of a hundred reasons to visit Barts, but he knew he shouldn't. He had said that he would be patient, but patience wasn't one of his better qualities. She hadn't called or sent a text, and he had no idea what she was thinking. When he left the lab two days prior, he felt pretty confident, but then again he _always_ felt confident. He wasn't used to feeling vulnerable and exposed. It had taken him weeks to work out his plan, then he carefully crafted exactly what he wanted to say. Although he really had decided on most of it during his stay in England's finest one star hotel for the criminally intelligent. Molly Hooper had kept him sane for most of those six days; her image, her room in his mind palace. But in the end he simply couldn't face it. The thought of all that he had lost, all that he'd never have… it finally broke him.

Sherlock shook himself out of the extremely unpleasant and unhealthy memories and went to the kitchen to make tea since his housekeeper had slacked off for the day. The water had just started boiling when he hear her… he knew those footsteps.

It was the strangest thing, he'd never experienced that kind of instant nerves in his entire life. He suddenly had a very clear understanding of the term 'butterflies in my stomach'. Taking the kettle off the hob, he turned to find Molly standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

She smiled. "Hi."

"I was making tea," he said in lieu of a proper greeting. He mentally kicked himself.

"That's nice. I'll take a cup."

"Of course. I'll bring it right in. Go, sit and, ah… yes, I won't be long." He stared at her as she walked into the sitting room, memorising her as she moved. She was wearing a skirt, was that a good sign? Her hair was loose, not up in its customary pony tail. _Bloody bumbling moron,_ he thought as he worked on their tea. _What the hell is wrong with me?_ Then he took a deep breath in an attempt to calm his nerves.

* * *

He handed Molly her mug and sat down across from her; she'd chosen John's chair rather than the settee. For some reason Sherlock didn't think that this was a good sign. He couldn't help but read into everything that was happening, from her choice of footwear to her posture. There were clues to be found and he'd find them.

She placed the hot beverage on the table next to the chair and then reached into her hand bag. "So, um, I did what you said. I've been thinking about, well, everything. And…" She unfolded the piece of paper. "I've made a sort of list."

Molly Hooper and her lists. Her desk was perpetually covered in small slips of paper; lists of all sorts. Shopping lists, inventory lists, to do lists… she was a list maker. The paper in her hands looked old and was a bit crumpled.

As she flattened it out in lap she asked, "How are you, by the way?"

"Passable," he answered quickly, resisting the urge to snatch the _list_ out of her hands.

"Okay." She picked up her tea and took a drink.

 _Forget the blasted tea and give me your answer,_ he thought as he attempted to look unaffected by the whole situation.

"Shall I get right to it then?"

He nodded his head, though he wanted to say 'for God's sake YES!'

"First off, this wasn't easy for me. It took all my willpower not to run over here that night. My head had a very long and serious talk with my heart and lady bits."

 _That doesn't sound good… my head always gets in my way,_ he thought. _Wait a minute, lady bits… don't think about Molly's lady bits right now!_

"But I did what you suggested and gave myself some time to think it all through. And even though you did answer most of my questions before I asked them, I still need to make some things clear."

She cleared her throat and looked at her list. "You have broken my heart, Sherlock. I don't think it was necessarily on purpose, but you did. I'm not even talking about this latest stunt, I'm talking about the past- _our_ past. You've been cruel and thoughtless. You used me, manipulated me and insulted me just because you could. That's... hard to overlook."

Sherlock had gone over all his past infractions repeatedly in the the recent weeks. The last two days he couldn't help but replay every insult and cruel deduction he'd made of Molly… and every single one made his stomach turn. He was well aware of his failings, especially where Molly was concerned, but he wasn't about to mention that. If she wanted to do a powerpoint presentation, she was well within her rights.

She focused back on the paper when she started speaking once again. "You can be cold and dismissive and that acerbic tongue of yours," she said looking up. "it's almost too much sometimes, Sherlock. Even if I know you don't really _mean_ to be unkind… it still hurts." Eyes back on her list, she continued, "You are singularly focused when working on a case. While I can appreciate this as a friend or a colleague, I believe this would be a huge obstacle in a romantic relationship."

As he listened he prayed (which he never really did) that here was a pro list somewhere on that paper.

"I won't go over the drugs situation, you said you are trying and I believe you." She looked at him imploringly, leaned forward and said, "I've always trusted you, Sherlock. Please don't abuse that. You mean so much to so many people. You have to stop this…"

"I thought you weren't going to go over the drugs bit," he interrupted before she got too carried away.

She sighed and tucked a hair behind her ear. "Yes, well… moving on."

 _Dear God, get on with it,_ he thought. _Be done with me so that I can learn the new skill of wallowing in self pity. Who knows, it might be useful._

"All of that being said… I can't deny the fact that I'm in love with you."

Sherlock lowered his head and closed his eyes and took in the words for the first time ever, though self-doubt was telling him that it might also be the last.

"And because I am in love with you I have to give this a shot."

He looked up to find Molly's, warm brown eyes meeting his. "Really?"

"Yes."

"But I sound like a shit," he said before he could stop himself.

She looked shocked for a moment then glanced down at the list. "Right. But you're also passionate and driven. You have the most amazing mind I've ever encountered. You help people, and even though you say you do it for the need to solve puzzles, I've watched you for years. I _know_ you care, Sherlock. You can't hide from me, remember?" She smiled. "The way you take care of the people in your life, Mrs. Hudson, the Watsons, Greg… me, it's so lovely. You are a truly remarkable man and I'd be lying to myself if I said I didn't want to be a part of your life for as long as I could." She folded up the paper and slipped it back into her bag. "I know I'm taking a chance, I know I could get hurt. But the next man I date could hurt me just as easily and I seriously doubt he's going to have an arse half as nice as yours," she said with a grin.

She stood up and walked over to him, Sherlock had to lean back in his chair as she stepped between his legs. When her small hand touched his cheek he thought his mind might explode. Then she sat down… _on his lap_. It felt nothing like having Janine sat across his legs. No, Molly belonged there. It felt perfect.

Suddenly a thought struck him. "You have more lists, don't you?" She was playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and it was very distracting, but he had a feeling she hadn't really said all that she'd planned to, just yet.

"I do. But we can either talk or kiss." To make her point she kissed his cheek. "I know which I prefer, but you've been very patient, so I'll let you decide." Another kiss to his jaw.

Although he was a bit curious about her other list, he was much more interested in what it was like to kiss, properly kiss, Molly Hooper. So he decided on the kissing business. He reached up and cupped her face with one hand. He had to admit to himself he was slightly nervous. This was their first real kiss. Molly licked her lips, clearly anticipating what was to come. He took a deep breath and said, "Thank you for giving me a chance even though according to your list, I don't sound like relationship material."

"Let me decide that, kay?"

He nodded and rubbed her cheek with his thumb. "I will be better, Molly- I want to be better. You deserve nothing less."

Her face broke out in the brightest of smiles just before their lips met. She was soft and warm and even though he had planned on keeping it sweet and chaste, Molly seemed to have something else in mind. Her tongue grazed his lips and he gladly opened them for her. After several minutes of heated snogging, Molly pulled back and seemed to ask him with a simple look if he wanted to go further, to which his answer was: _oh, yessss!_

Later that night, as he held his sleeping pathologist in his arms, his final thought just before he joined her in slumber was, _best plan ever_.

* * *

 _Well, I **really** hope you liked it. Please let me know. And thank you all for reading. Much love ~Lil~_


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